Dancing with Wolves

It's damn hard to be a woman. Even after the revolution of the welfare that takes care of our rights; even after the boom of the Feminist Theories and their collective and isolated rebellious actions agains the patriarchal system that gave us back the control of our sexuality; even after Madonna explotied our more masculine side emboding in her persona the metamorphosical abilities that our body and personality allows us to express without loosing our feminity....Even after Almodovar showed and made the West believed that's there is total compatibility between being a bit crazy and depressed and hysteric with being able to take the reins of our lives and make everyody dance at the rhytm of our high heels. Recently, society has taken possesion of our wombs, turning us into social reproductive machines, but somehow, we are more protected than we ever were inside the codes and laws that give us the staus of individuals with a bit of power to, independently, control our destiny. We made it with a lot of effort involved: Our personal became political. Now we are free and independent... From whom? Well, actually nature was always our ally. We were subjecte to it by a more powerful force, but that never made us loose our strenght. Now that nature is under peril of being suplanted by the irresistable wish to fully control it, we'll be able to expand beyond our bodies and only time will tell us what more wonders the future will bring. Still, we'll adapt to them all and become stronger. So we also need to be free and independent from oursleves because I still feel very vulnerable to the objectification and the cliches. Objectification and clasification to a concrete model of life that you are supposed to have. I know that that's a quest that has been generally solved, but when it becomes personal, it brings the same questions and doubts, the same impotence and anger against the unavoidable. No matter how hard you've worked or studied, how much you want to see the world and the people in it. Someone always wants to put you back in the constructed role that defines what a person with my genitals should be. And I don't care wherever the wind will blow, because I'll keep on dancing with wolves. I guess that that pisses off a lot of people. But that makes me happy the same way it makes me sad having to explain over and over a why that I don't really understand any longer. I guess logic it's never been my strenght. I am more driven by those insticst that social rules and western reason tried to supress for considering incosistent. I know..but that doesn't show my inability to reason which are the purpuses and the materials of my visions. It's just that nobody cares, because everybody make you the same old questions. And that happening it's the realisiation that there's no room for difference. No matter how hard we fought for it. We need to keep on fighting for more. The so used word space has become the most valuable possesion in our modern societies: Geographical , virtual, emotional space. You name it. Everythng is measured according to its possesion or lack of it. As a woman, I want... I claim more space for my presence and my views. A tolerant space that does not condemn me to live under the stupid rules of stupid men. I wanna cohabit with the clever and open minded ones who understand that my needs are not so different from them. I want the freedom I always had to be acknowledged and valued for what it is and not for what nature made me.

Keep on changing

Identity...a very funny word. I've been thinking a lot about this lately; not only because it's our task for the next seminar in "Nation, Faith (...)" but also because I think that, as crucial or fascinating as it might be to find a definition for this concept, it's also enormouly complex and difficult to come up with one.
Who am I? does it depend at all on the place that I come from? Who built that place? Was it a natural construction or one forged through bloody battles, impossitions and restrictions? Is it the people who ihabit a country the ones who create its stereotypes or are those who look at them the ones who do it? Am I intrinsicably linked to those streotypes? Am I Spanish...Why? Is my blood a mere red liquid or a constructed cultural concept?
History plays with the ego of those who think that things were always the way they are at the moment. But we all know history has very little to do with being a naural phenomena. We, with our actions, textual construcitions and war declarations, give birth to her in a very painful way, as it couldn't be otherwise. And when we do it, we create it and become her subdits.
We tend to close oursleves up in reduced and axfisiating geographical limits and, at the extremest point, in physical ones, even when we keep on crossing borders, of consuming goods that we no longer procude inside the limits of our countries. We even fall in love and have children with stranger cultural individuals, and that offspring, that inner unavoidable act of creatin, will jeopardise with its existence the concept of "truly something".
It might be that globalization is pushing us forwards and backwards. It's forcing us to find new dfinitions of truths that no longer can survive under their label of truthfulness.
Globalization has a slow path, but it's blurring many borders helped by human discoveries in techological areas. It's not leading us to a future in which progress is the key concept of humanity, but instead it's opening new debates that for so long we fought and dominated with simplistic actions that avoided words.
We live in a time when the shift is night. And we should not fear the challenge of jumping into this new area.
I don't think that Nation or Nationalty are, or will ever be, fixed terms. No matter how hard governemnts try and will try to make then that. They change like humans do. The earth belongs to hesrlef, the same way persons do or, definetly, SHOULD be able to.
I am not scared to loose my identity, because it never was something that intrinsicaly and naturaly belonged to me from the fisrt time I saw the light in this planet. Even if a piece of plastic says so or inmigration authorities try to keep me away from staying in a specific place as much as I'd like to stay there. What a "funny" and sad way of controlling the consumption and enjoyment of natural resources!!
I made myself; or at least I am trying to.
True, I grow up in a very specific environment, but I never looked at it as an ideological, cultural or geographical prison, but as a code to understand and mould the world. The entire world, not just a very small piece of land.
That's why I am not scared to play. To go outside and keep on changing.

Yellow...If Chris allows me to borrow it for a while.

After my confessions of a dangerous mind, I'd like to unveil what others already know...Everybody seems to know but me.
I'd like to find a way, a magical portal where to enter and be able to say all the things that always scape my mind when you are next to me. So much reharsal...but when the time hits, I only hear the silence. The silence totally absorbed in the shape of your mouth, or the curve of your fingers, or your incredibly naivite that I can't help to hate and adore in equal proportions. This contradiction doesn't help at all when it comes to put some sense in this crazy heart of mine. I like it. I like you.
It's gonna take some time to forget you and carry on, because I linger in the gazes that trap me for a while. I dont know what I see in them...what I see in you.
I get comfortable in being entirely counscious hipnotized by my own fantasies in which you are the star with so much presence that there is room for none else. I quite enjoy that self imposed belonging.
However I'd wish ... I'd wish all this was efortless and worked without so much thinking involved. I was expecting a question that most probably will never come, but I must say I fully enjoyed all your sourprises.
How could you know that I am exhausted of the long run distances? I've run all my life to and from my feelings. And I want to stop.
I came here to stop and I dreamt of finding a break. Instead, I got more tempest,...but you are the reason why poetry and open endings should exist. I guess that's the real thrill I've found in you. So stop or not...thanks for being my "yellow".

Forgive and forget for an F

Today I feel like wrtting to report those so called friends who always emerge with their absurd and very sarcarstic comments that never help when you need it the most. Therefore, my own personal conclusion is that it's always better to remove them from the very broad and very sepcific category of "friends".
That it's definetly a painful process because a lost of trust goes to hell when you do it. Trust and also the realisation of how wrong and blind can you be sometimes.
But there's is also a positive aspect of the drama emerging from such occasions and that's it that the shitty load that stops you from moving faster in any direction you choose in your life, is gone when you go for the removal.
Gone with the wind or with a very efortless gesture of deleting a number or an e mail address or any kind of contact that you have maintained with a concrete person when the times seemed better.
However, what works the best for both sides in these situations it's to totally ignore each other, which does not require lightening space in your virual accounts. It's just a personal status that significantly improves your mental health because, simply, you are not thinking at all or suffering for what others might be thinking, saying or doing.
It's only then you become free to keep on going, to let in in your life new loosers or the right ones that are queing to come in.
And if (you know who) borrowed me his wings to get here, I am gonna let them in. The right ones, I mean. Well, actually they might be as bad as the previous ones who caused me so much trouble, but...you know what?! They are my personal choice. They are what I want and what I need and so I'll let them be without caring for judgements of any kind. Not even mine. Less of all yours.
In here it's all new and my expectations are not exception. I know there is always the same pebble in my shoe, but I am getting used to walk comfortably with it inside. I never bothered or asked anyone to carry my load for me, so I am just happy doing it all my way, as old Franky would say.
I am happy having the one close, who cares if he doesn't care or doesn't even know? There's a purpose in what we do, even when we don't know quite clearly what that purpose is. So even if my reason to be here was originally wrong, I'd stil be happy to have had the courage to follow my instincts and listen to their call.
So, you can go on and bother yourlsef in getting annoyed seeing how others have the balls to follow their dreams. You can keep on being this sad creature you are trying to overcome to be truly free. But for that, you'll need more than your wit. I'm afraid you'll need to change your egocentric way of seeing things, of trusting your clever statements and focus on what you want for youself, instead of commneting on what others decide for them and who they want to share it with.
And after all, I wish you luck , because this fucking trip called life is damn hard, and we always should be forgiven for commiting the same mistakes.
That's all I can wish you though, for nothing else matters anymore when the next stage I condemn you to is forgetness.

Mas locos, por favor.

Hoy he vuelto a tener una charla con mi casero y he caido en la cuenta de que cualquier parte del mundo es un pequegno ring de lucha libre en donde las personas suben a darse golpes, a demostrar su valia o a simplemente dejarse aplastar por el mas fuerte.
Los mitos son necesarios porque cuando no se tiene algo, logicamnete, se aspira a ello. Sognamos, incluso pensamos y planeamos en adquirir lo que nos falta y aquello que envidiamos en otro ya que damos por sentado, al menos a priori, que el conseuirlo nos haria mejores; pero cuando nos ponemos en su piel, las cosas no resultan tan idilicas.
Los mitos caen, como los heroes se han ido esvaneciendo en la historia; principalmente en la moderna, en donde somos todos una masa homogenea pujando por llegar al mismo sitio en diferente marcas de ropa y coche.
Los mitos caen cuando los vivimos de cerca, pero no es un motivo de desilusion. Al contrario. Es un aprendizaje enriquecedor.
Comparar es una cualidad que hemos tendido a perder en la creencia ciega de respuestas que otros nos dan en lugar de buscarlas nosotros mismos. A veces es desalentador el ir en pos de algo que solo existe en nuestra mente, como si fuesemos unos locos adeptos y perseguidores de ideas platonicas que son solo eso: Ideas. Pero el mundo necesita a esos locos que ven claro a donde quieren llegar, aunque el camino no haya sido trazado.
Si todos llevasemos dentro un poco de pioneros, puede que el mundo caminase en miles de direcciones en lugar de reducirse cada vez mas a un producto standard de coorporaciones homogenizadoras.
No me quejo de las facilidades. Pero agnoro el gusto de la diversidad, las opciones, las posibilidades. Quizas yo construya, aunque solo sea en mi mundo, un poco de todo eso. Y si estoy loca es cosa mia porque ya no aspiro a contagiar con mi locura a nadie mas que a mi misma.

Getting used to

I don't know how many times I stopped by the Lakes to have a look at the elegant swams that swin in them. They are so beautiful that I can't help myself: Every time I cross the bridge I reduce the not so fast speed of my byke so I just can stare at the swams for few minutes. They dance in the waters covered in a green film mixed with the reflect of the sun on them, making of it all a very special view.
I don't know why this scene keeps on reminding me of Cambridge. Not so much the Lakes, but the old buildings in the city centre. They both have the same laberynthic streets, the very same narrow alleys an the stones that seem to stand proud before the gaze of the tourists that are not so abundandt in here. There is always some group of people lost in their maps, fighting with their rain coats and the wind, while trying not to get run over by any of the many bikes that are the real traffic in Kobenhavn.
There are also many parks all ove the city and people here seems to be very into sports. They are always doing soemthing: Biking, running, jogging, skating...It's the survival of the fitteset, hehe.
I haven't started to properly study (or trying to) the language. It's so weird. Specially the pronunciation. So, for the moment, I'm just letting my ears get used to these new sounds. I'll soon start to write down words and see if I can connect them to something... or even memorice them. Maybe I wont be able, but it's part of the adventure. Amongst other things, of course. So many...
Today it's been 7 days since I'm here.
Somehow it seems longer, but not. Only seven days...and even if I didn't, I've got the impression I've done many things.
Some days I am feeling restless, wanting to go here and there. Other days I am scared to leave the house only because I don't have a place to settle after my long walks around the city. I used to have one in London, but I haven't found one in here. Not yet, and that makes me feel like a forigner.
Of course I am one, but when you make the city yours just by the act o finding a nice cofe shop, or a particular spot where you feel comfortable...right then, is when you start mingling into the rythm of the place.
Hopefully that wil happen soon.
So far, so good.

Chapter I

Construir un cielo en la tierra lleva mucho tiempo, dinero, esfuerzo, dedicacion, vision. Es una ambicion de reyes, de la gente comun de un territorio determinado, de la historia q puede ser dadivosa o castigadora y de la diosa fortuna que, en la mayoriad de los casos, es caprichosa. Un cielo se construye a diario, aunque temrinarlo lleve dos siglos y miles de manos el concluirlo.
Un cielo se puede levantar en una noche, en un dia, en unos minutos....Se puede hacer de piedras o miradas, de gestos o caricias. Se invita a el a los que solo se quiere invitar, y es entonces cuando adquiere el estatus de Paraiso; personal, cuando sus transeuntes no ven en el el signifiado que otros vemos.
Probablemente nunca regrese a esta azotea y sin embargo mis recuerdos sabran del lugar como las lineas de mi mano conocen mis dedos. Dos hicieron el camino, aunque solo uno rezase en los peldagnos paraque el tiempo no marchitase su memoria y le permitiese gozar de la vision de una ciudad vista a traves de los ojos de un corazon que todavia late al ritmo de su propia cancion.